


Taking Phryne Home

by LadyRoxie



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: AU, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Post S3E8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 11:17:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7842826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRoxie/pseuds/LadyRoxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phryne has never been to Jack's home. When she finally gets there, she has an unexpected reaction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Phryne Home

Doubt thou the stars are fire,  
  Doubt that the sun doth move,  
 Doubt truth to be a liar,  
  But never doubt I love.  
William Shakespeare

 

Jack Robinson and Phryne Fisher were going dancing.

Back from England nearly a month, they had yet to spend one night apart. Jack had wondered how he would adjust to waking in her in bed, in her home, greeted placidly by Mr. Butler (who had mysteriously known just what Jack liked for breakfast weekdays and what he preferred on weekends; which mornings he'd prefer coffee to tea). As it turned out, the biggest adjustment had been Phryne's; making room for some of Jack's clothes in her considerable, but considerably full, closet.

Jack wouldn't have believed, a few months ago, lying alone in his small bed, feeling every fathom of the oceans that separated them, that their intense reunion in London would bring them to this; that he could feel so natural, so at home. Even Phryne's fabled boudoir had quickly become familiar in the best sense of the word. It was so very much her, and coming back to it, whether after a rare leisurely day spent lounging or walking or reading together; or late at night after a slogging grind at the station, he felt her embrace upon crossing the threshold, and felt tension (of one kind) drain from his body. It smelled of her, and perhaps, now, not a little of him; Phryne had cleared space on her dresser, and a tin of his pomade and a flask of his preferred cologne sat beside her vast collection of perfume vials. When he came home to her in the small hours of the morning, using his own key, it felt right.

She had even begun to rearrange one of the spare bedrooms, having ordered a beautiful oak desk and barristers bookcases for some of Jack's beloved books.

He was happy beyond words.

Tonight, they had decided to dress up in grand fashion and go dancing, a decision Phryne thought Jack acquiesced to much more readily than he'd have anyone believe. He was, after all, a divine dancer, and she knew from past experience that an evening in public in each others' arms had a very acute effect on their mutual desire; evenings spent dancing always ended delightfully.

As they were leaving the club, however, pleasantly tipsy and barely able to keep their hands off each other, Phryne grabbed Jack's wrist to glance at his watch, and moaned.

“Phryne?”

“It's too early!”

“I beg your pardon?” said Jack lowly, leaning down to nibble the top of her ear when they were out of sight of the club's doorman. “Aren't you the woman who was threatening to divest me of my clothing in the hallway to the loo not five minutes ago?”

Phryne groaned again, curving her head away from Jack's delicious mouth.

“It's Jane. She was having three girls from her year come and stay overnight – a 'study slumber party', she said, but if my experience is anything to go by, four sixteen-year-old girls left alone in a house are going to be neither studying nor slumbering, even if one of them is Jane! Mr. B was going to keep an eye on them, but I don't want to go home yet.... But I so want you....”

Phryne had turned towards him as she was speaking, and began trailing her fingers up his lapels.

Jack considered their quandary for a moment. He had no desire to be eavesdropped upon by a gaggle of teenaged girls, but his own predicament was becoming slightly obvious, in spite of his loose cut trousers, and he very much wanted to get Phryne alone.

He had a thought.

“Did you happen to being your ingenious little device?”

She leaned forward, kissing his jaw. “I'm currently carrying it on – in – my person, Inspector.... Care to arrest me?”

“Arresting you is not exactly the first thing that comes to mind, Miss Fisher,” he rumbled. “But perhaps we could repair to somewhere more private?”

“Jack?”

“Phryne Fisher, would you do me the honour of accompanying me home?”

Phryne's eyes widened in delight.

“Oh you do have the best ideas!”

She tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, and pressed close to him as they strode towards the Hispano.

“What if,” Jack said as they reached the car, “you did the unthinkable, and relinquished the keys to me tonight? Let me truly take you home?” His eyes twinkled.

“But we'll get there ever so much faster if I do the driving, darling...” She protested sweetly, but he could see her weakening.

“Tell you what. I drive, and you can try to guess where we're going.” He opened passenger door, and stood waiting for her to concede.

Phryne screwed up her face in mock annoyance, then relaxed it completely and leaned up to kiss him.

“Fine, Jack, but you owe me.” She slid into her seat, flashing him an unmistakable look that meant she had every intention of collecting on the debt before the night was through.

“I look forward to it,” he said, his lips tilting up in a slight smile.

Though Phryne would never have admitted it, she had actually quite enjoyed the few times Jack had driven her beautiful car. Whereas her own approach was to wrestle it's powerful engine into submission, bending it to her will with her typical fervour and abandon, he seemed to settle deep into the belly of the beast, masterfully manoeuvring it with all the power and control he brought to everything else. It was exciting in an entirely different way. Tonight, though, she curled next to him on the seat, the unfamiliar feeling of neither navigating nor knowing the end destination unsettling her somewhat.

She had never been to Jack's home; never even finagled the address from Hugh. Before England, it would have seemed to forward, too intimate a gesture; and since they'd returned, he'd seemed happy to move his day-to-day needs to Wardlow. There was no question Phryne's residence was more comfortable, more luxurious, and she believed Jack felt at home there. She found herself quiet now, feeling that finally being in Jack's home was a rather momentous thing.

“You alright?” he asked, glancing down at her.

“Mmm. I've never been to your home, Jack,” she said, as lightly as she could.

“No, you have not. Don't worry, I will take that into account and allow you adequate time for snooping.”

Phryne smacked his arm lightly before settling her head back on his shoulder.

“I do not snoop; I observe.”

“Mmm. Well then, perhaps I'll fix us a little midnight snack while you 'observe' to your heart's content.”

“And you cook? Jack Robinson, you'll turn my head.”

She heard the smirk in his voice. “Well it wasn't the first thing I was aiming to do, but I'm sure I can get around to it...”

The headlights of the car swung a wide arc in front of them as Jack slowed the engine and turned onto a tree-lined residential street. Neat bungalows with small gardens and deep front porches lined the block, and Phryne found herself sitting up, trying to pick out which one was his.

She might even have guessed, had she had the chance. Jack's home was a pretty white cottage with a dark green veranda and a bright green front door. The tidy walk was flanked with well-tended gardens on each side, native flowers in full bloom in the tail end of summer. A cane chair and a well-loved push bike occupied the porch.

“Oh Jack, it's just lovely.”

He smiled. He knew his modest home was a far cry from Wardlow, never mind the Richmond Estate where they'd stayed in England. But he was proud of it, and his quiet pride was evident in both the grounds and the house. Even so, he felt a mix of apprehension and eagerness at finally integrating these two parts of his life.

He opened Phryne's car door and extended his arm, inviting her to climb the few steps to the porch. Locating his key, he had a momentary pang, hoping to hell he hadn't done anything stupid like left dishes in the sink or his smalls on the couch. Jack was a fastidious person, but he had spent so little time here lately, he felt a little estranged himself.

He pushed open the door and reached to flick the light switch just inside before turning to Phryne. “Please,” he said, nodding slightly to indicate she should make herself at home.

Phryne stepped into the open front room and he took her stole, hanging it on the coat rack along with his own coat and hat.

“Chez Robinson,” she said delightedly. Jack, suddenly self-conscious, managed a sheepish grin,.

Phryne swept her eyes over the parlour, obviously the main living space. At the far right, there was a neat brick fireplace, flanked by two large leather armchairs and small tables holding parchment-shaded lamps. There was a comfortable looking couch along one wall, and behind it, built-in bookshelves rose floor to ceiling the length of the room. A large oil painting of a dry rocky landscape with craggy mountains in the background hung over the fireplace. She smiled as she realized it looked like it might have been the very setting for one of Jack's cowboy novels, and wondered if it had hung in his marital house, or if it was an indulgence he'd allowed himself since his separation.

To the left of the small foyer stood a sturdy farmhouse table with four chairs, and beyond it, the entrance to what must be the kitchen. Straight ahead was a narrow hall, leading to what she guessed were Jack's bath and bedrooms.

“I love it, Jack. It feels like you.”

She meant it, and he felt a warmth spread through him.

“Erm, drink? Food? I'm not sure what is left in the pantry since I was here last, but there might be biscuits, or a potato. Or not. I'll go look.”

His nervousness was adorable, thought Phryne, and she reached over to wrap her arms lightly around his waist.

“Drink first, darling, and if we make it to food, lovely. After all, I'm fairly sure these aren't the only rooms in the house I might want to see...”

“Right.”

He disappeared into the kitchen, and Phryne moved into the living room, crossing to the wall of bookcases. Trailing her fingers along the spines, she couldn't suppress a smile – he might be a taciturn man, but Jack Robinson was a man of seemingly limitless interests: poetry, fiction, both classic and modern, science, astronomy, history, criminology... there didn't seem to be a subject he was indifferent about.

“If all these are here, where on earth did the books at my house come from?” she called into the kitchen.

Jack appeared just then, two tumblers in one hand and a bottle of Irish Whiskey in the other.

“Ah. Those, Miss Fisher,” his head tilting to the outside as if indicating the direction of St. Kilda, “are my favourites. And they used to live in my bedroom.”

“Hmmm. I imagine that's made a great deal more space in said bedroom, then, hasn't it?” she purred, sashaying over to the couch.

“Perhaps. If you are very good, I may even allow you to consult on the decor in said bedroom.”

He raised an eyebrow in a way he knew made her tingle, and uncorked the bottle in front of him. Phryne slipped in behind the low coffee table and curled up beside him.

“To worlds colliding,” said Jack, handing her a glass, and tilting his own towards hers with a clink.

Phryne sipped her whiskey, and settled back against the cushions.

“Was this the house where you lived, with Rosie?”

Jack looked slightly taken aback for a moment, but recovered quickly, and shook his head.

“No. I couldn't stay there; not once it was truly over. I rented a flat for a while, and then when this place came up, I was ready to take it. There's a lovely garden out back; I think that's what sold me on it, to be honest. I'd missed having one.”

Phryne had an alluring, fleeting image of Jack in work clothes, sleeves rolled up against the heat, bent over in the dirt and sun of the garden.

“Do you spend a lot of time out there?”

“I do, when I'm able. It started slow, at first; I'd had to leave all of my plants behind at the old house, but it's quite good now. Mostly vegetables and roses, though I've got a couple of fruit trees I'm keen on. I'm out there whenever I get the chance.”

His eyes were bright as he spoke, and Phryne found herself moved.

“If it wasn't pitch black, I'd show you. I'll take you back there in the morning,” he smiled.

Phryne trailed a middle finger around the rim of her glass, gazing up at Jack with twinkling eyes.

“Jack Robinson, renaissance man. Gardening, cycling, investigating, cooking... what other talents are you hiding?”

“Would you like to find out?” he rumbled, his trademark smirk firmly in place.

“Mmmm... More than anything, Inspector.”

Jack knocked back the last of his whiskey, then rose and extended his large hand to her. When she followed suit, tilting her head back on her long neck to drain her own glass, he changed his mind, reaching forward instead to scoop her up into his arms, and swing her over the arm of the couch.

Phryne's laughter rippled over them both all the way down the dark hallway.

 

Phryne woke to slanted sunlight casting long beams across her body and illuminating Jack's small bedroom. She reached out a hand and realized she was alone, his side of the bed rumpled and cool. She became aware of delicious smells coming from the kitchen, and smiled as she stretched cat-like before climbing out of bed.

Pulling on her silk knickers and Jack's button-up shirt from the night before, which she found unceremoniously wrapped around one leg of an armchair, she padded into the bathroom to splash water on her face and attempt to smooth her hair.

When she appeared at the threshold of the kitchen, adorably sleepy and soft, Jack put down the spatula he was holding and walked towards her, his eyes shining.

“Good morning, Miss Fisher,” he said softly, wrapping her in his arms and kissing the top of her head.

She grinned up at him, her chin on his chest. “It smells divine.”

“Well. Bit of a scavenging job, but I think I've made it work. Eggs from the hens – fortunately my neighbour, Mrs. Phillips, looks after them when I'm not around, in exchange for eggs; and you happened to come at a lucky time of year: the garden has been generous this morning.” Jack smiled and returned to the stove, where a pan of glorious looking eggs were frying, along with another pan of sauteed potatoes, scallions, peppers and herbs.

Phryne's eyes went wide as she eased into a chair at the kitchen table, pulling her feet up onto the seat, her knees under her chin.

“Tea?” he asked, giving the pans a quick stir.

“Mmm... Please,” she murmured, yawning.

She watched as he brought out tea cups, saucers and dinner plates (white, with a green and blue floral pattern), then poured them both tea from a pot covered with a yellow linen tea towel. She accepted the cup gratefully, plopping one sugar cube from the bowl on the table into her tea, and smiling at him as she took the teaspoon from his fingers.

“You are an excellent host, Jack. If I'd known, I might have availed myself of your hospitality a long time ago.”

He gave her a hint of a smile. They both knew this wasn't true; he appreciated the thought anyway.

“Potatoes smell done,” he said, setting his cup down, and carrying plates over to the hob.

She stared at the picture before her, trying to unclench the knot that was tightening in her throat and her stomach: Jack Robinson, barefoot and sleeves rolled up, cooking in his bright kitchen, the aromas of the fruits of his garden luscious and vibrant.

Jack turned back to the table, two laden plates in his hands, and set one down in front of Phryne.

“No toast, I'm afraid, the bread that was left was.... not really bread anymore.” He pulled up his own chair, and motioned for her to begin.

She took a mouthful, and set her fork down to enjoy it. If Jack's food looked and smelled heavenly, it tasted even better. Suddenly, Phryne felt tears pricking the backs of her eyes, and studied her teacup in an effort to bring herself back under control.

It was no use; by the time Jack looked up, tears streamed silently down Phryne's pale cheeks.

“Phryne! God, it's not that bad, is it?” he teased gently. He set his fork down, rounding the table to crouch in front of her chair. Phryne felt his hands on her bare knees, and closed her eyes tightly against the kindness. Her breath came in soft gasps, and she covered her face with her hands.

“Phyrne, love, please talk to me...” Jack's familiar voice seemed to stroke her skin, and she tried to calm her breathing. She managed instead to shake her tousled head, the opening of her eyes only releasing a new flood of tears.

Jack knelt on the floor and wrapped his strong arms around her. For a second, Phryne fought the impulse to push against him, to fight, to run. But he held her gently and firmly, and she tried to ground herself in the scents of his body – the perfume of his pomade, the lingering spice of his cologne, the fresh herbal earthiness of the garden, and the ineffable warm scent that was just him. She shuddered a breath, and when she opened her eyes again, they were met with a pair of clear blue ones so kind, her heart caught in her throat.

“Talk to me,” he whispered, all of his love and concern written across his face.

She shook her head.

“You can, love, anything. You know that.”

She met his eyes.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered.

“For what, sweet?”

Phryne breathed deeply, trying to push past the panic that gripped her chest.

She leaned forward, burying her face in his shoulder. When she spoke, her voice was soft, but she knew he could hear.

“I never came. I never asked... I think I knew you wanted to keep it separate, apart, but I never even tried. And there is so much I never knew...”

Jack pulled back a little, crouching down so he could see her face.

“All of this,” she said, glancing tremulously around his small kitchen, her hand protectively going to her mouth, “it's all you, and I never even knew.”

Jack's brow furrowed slightly as he began to understand.

“Your beautiful home, your books, your pretty teacups, your garden... Jack your garden!” Tears started anew at her exclamation, and his heart broke for her. He cocked his head to the side with a gentle smile, and took her face in his large hands.

“Phryne, it's alright.”

She shook her head fiercely, clasping his wrists in her hands.

“No! No it isn't! I was so selfish, Jack... Who do I think I am, the bloody sun? Expecting everyone and everything to just fall into orbit around me? I knew you would come to me, always come to my home, into my life, and I was so happy to have you there. Do you know that? That's never happened before, you must know that. And it's the best thing in my life – you, you in all of my life. But you are so much more, and I want to know all of you! I don't want you ever to think I don't...”

Jack stood up, and carefully lifted her into his lap on the chair, letting her head fall against his chest, and covering it with his palm. Over and over, he stroked her hair, letting her tears flow, and the sobs quell.

Finally, he felt her wipe her eyes on the cuffs of his shirt, and her hand came to rest on his chest.

“Phryne, I have no regrets at all. I am quite satisfied having you as the centre of my universe.”

Her lip trembled, tears threatening again.

“And truly, until recently, I think even I was keeping all of these things – my things – at a distance. Nothing was the same, when I came home, even after Rosie...” He didn't have to elaborate, knowing she understood.

“Everything in my world seems to have a lot more colour now.” Jack kissed her forehead, and she met his eyes.

“It's all important to me, Jack. More than anything. I want to know everything there is to know.”

“Right,” he said, shifting her slightly so they were more face to face. “Let's see. Tea cups, from my mother, when I bought this house.”

Phryne grinned, reaching out to turn the little cup on the table in front of her.

“I like them.”

“Excellent. What next... First pet: Four.”

“You had four first pets?”

“No, just the one. A dog, whom I apparently named Four as it was my favourite word at the time. Three guesses what age I was. My sisters fought to change it to Lucy, although he was very much a male dog, but my mother put her foot down, and Four he was forever. Except to my youngest sister Calla, who always called him Lucy. He was scraggly, brown and white, nearly always dirty, and nearly always in my bed.”

She grinned again, imagining a small, apple-cheeked Jack Robinson, scampering about his neighbourhood with his beloved dog at his heels.

“More, please,” she said.

“Hm. Alright... Favourite colour – green. This colour green,” he said softly, one long finger coming up to stroke the delicate skin of her eyelid.

“That's a happy coincidence,” she murmured.

“It is. Next... Middle name: Arthur, after my Grandfather, whom I never knew. Erm, most prized childhood possession – my Buffalo Bill badge, followed later by my bicycle.”

“I knew that!” said Phryne with delight, sitting up a little in his lap.

“Yes, you've very good. Now shush. Favourite food -”

“Anything with cheese,” giggled Phryne, earning a squeeze from Jack.

“Also true, though a good biscuit can rival it.”

“Favourite author,” said Phryne, “William Shakespeare.”

“You are good,” smiled Jack, kissing her cheek.

“Ah. This scar.” He extended his left arm and turned it to reveal a slim white crooked line an inch or so above his elbow, “Fell out of my aunt's peach tree, landed on a root. Ruined her best towels by bleeding all over them, but I showed off the stitches for weeks. And the scar used to look like a centipede, which made me VERY popular with the other 10-year-olds.”

Phryne traced the silvery line with her finger, suddenly feeling like this was a very intimate thing.

“First job – chook wrangler.”

She burst out laughing.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Fisher, I was brilliant. I was 8 years old, and our elderly neighbour had a huge flock and a decrepit pen to house them, and one summer I was employed to manage them, as well as slowly repair the fence around the hutch. I'll have you know we didn't lose a single hen that year. I was very gifted.”

“Jack Robinson, you are indeed a man of talents many and varied.”

“Thank you.”

She rested her head back against his chest, and they sat in silence for a few minutes.

“Feel better?”

“I think so,” she said, “a little.”

“Phryne, listen.” Jack took her chin in his hand, and turned her face towards his. “The only thing you need to know – to truly know – is that I love you. Completely, crashingly, utterly. Everything else, we can learn as we go.”

Now the tears in her eyes were for this beautiful man, and she let them fall even as she kissed him.


End file.
